FAHRENHEIT 2300 by Crocker Farm

This is the story of a man whose middle name was “Omega.” One of the better middle names I have ever run across, it probably derived from the Christian epithet for Jesus, “the Alpha and Omega.” The grandeur of this middle name was belied, a bit, by the ordinary, typically American name of the man who bore it: Dan Thomas. Dan, like countless other potters, pottery workers, and artisans of all stripes, slipped in and out of life without making an indelible mark on the history of his trade. But as a sixteen-year-old boy, he cared enough about a small, molded stoneware lion he made to inscribe the bottom in his haphazard handwriting–and it is thanks to this artifact that we can now recognize Dan as part of the grand history of American ceramics.

Dan Omega Thomas was born on March 9, 1877 in Thomastown, Ohio, “a considerable village … two miles south of Akron–composed largely of coal miners, mostly Welsh, who … worked the coal mines of that vicinity.” Dan was the son of one of these sorts, a coal-mining Welshman; his mother had immigrated from Wales, as well. In 1893, while just sixteen years old, Dan was already working at some neighborhood pottery, of which there were several. On December 13 of that year, possibly as a Christmas gift, he molded a stoneware figure of a reclining lion, decorating the beast with some sort of brown glaze. On the underside, he scrawled, “DAN OMeGA THOMAS / THOMASTOWN / DEC 13 1893.”

The extremely prolific Akron potteries put bread on the table of Dan’s family, at least several of whom worked in their shops. Dan’s nephews, Daniel and Ben, both found employment at the Whitmore, Robinsons & Co. (“one of the most extensive and complete establishments of its kind in the United States,” and located at the nearby corner of East Market Street and Case Avenue) circa 1900. His brother, William, was a potter, and it was probably he who produced a molded fish pitcher–with a fairly similar glaze to his brother’s lion–pictured in The Potters and Potteries of Summit County …, by C. Dean Blair. A few other Thomas’s show up as potters in the 1900 Akron city directory, as well, but I have not determined if they were relatives. 1900 is also the first year I found young Dan in the directory, where he was apparently working at the Akron China Company on Second Ave., by the Cleveland Terminal & Valley Railroad, producers of “White Granite and Porcelain Ware.”

Dan’s whole neighborhood was rife with potters in that year–so full of them, in fact, that the census taker bothered to differentiate their various functions at the manufactories. Many, like Dan, were simply “Potters,” but others show up as “Potter (presser),” “Potter (turner),” “Potter (packer),” “Kiln-burner,” “Pottery decorator,” and “China ware moulder.” I’m not sure whether Dan could deftly throw on a wheel, or if he was more of a “pottery worker” who could make things in a mold, but I am fairly certain he fell into the latter category.

Dan’s career as a potter was not particularly long-lived. Around the time he showed up in the 1900 city directory, he married his wife, Clara, and the two had a son, Harold. By 1910, he was working as the manager of a novelty store; by 1920, he had become a jeweler–an occupation he would hold until his death. Around seven o’clock on the evening of August 28, 1925, Dan was driving his car near “the river” (I assume the Upper Cuyahoga River), when some bizarre “gasoline explosion” sent him into the water, drowning him. Whether the explosion came from his own gas tank or some outside fuel container, I do not know. He left behind his widow and his twenty-one-year-old son, who succeeded him in the jewelry business. His tragic end capped a life that saw the end of the great American stoneware industry, as mass-production took over and the specialized skills of the potter’s trade fell by the wayside. But his enthusiastic signature on a small piece he made in a mold shows that even for those who did not spend years in apprenticeships, learning to turn graceful forms, the universal desire to create–and to leave behind one’s work–was present.

A Note about Sources: As can be gleaned from my text, I used applicable Akron area censuses and city directories. The two quotes (one about Thomastown and the other about Whitmore, Robinsons & Co.) came from Fifty Years and Over of Akron and Summit County, by Samuel A. Lane (1892), pg. 986 and pp. 479-489, respectively. I found Dan’s tragic fate in his death record, which survives in the records of the Summit County Department of Health. Dan’s birth date, birth place, and marriage date were found in a strange place: Over ten years ago, someone found what was possibly Dan’s family bible in a basement amongst her grandmother’s effects. She had no idea how it got there, but she sought an answer on a popular genealogy message board.

Jon Kay, the director of Traditional Arts Indiana, recently launched a great new podcast called Artisan Ancestors. Jon describes it as a “podcast where I explore ways to research and understand the past,” and he does just that, talking to professors, researchers, authors, and scholars about American decorative arts. A couple of weeks ago, Jon interviewed me about Crocker Farm, our stoneware-related research, and the Commeraw project. If you’re at all interested in any of those topics, and you can put up with listening to me talk for twenty minutes or so, you might want to give it a listen. I think you may find it interesting.

(For those completely new to this sort of thing, a podcast is essentially an internet radio broadcast; it just takes a click of the mouse to listen.)

Click here to check it out.

(Once there, simply click the play button or the “Play in new window” link on the left-hand side of the page to start listening.)

Today I posted the following on my website, www.commeraw.com, but I just wanted to share this with everyone here, as well:

I could not be happier to see Thomas Commeraw’s name, and true identity, in a New York newspaper for the first time in almost two hundred years. He and the Commeraw Project were both part of today’s issue of The New York Times, in Eve Kahn’s article on Americana Week. Click here to read it.

When I announced this project almost ten months ago, I could not have hoped for a better response. Many of you have been kind enough to share photographs of Commeraw’s work, and have even welcomed me into your homes to see and photograph your pottery. Without this generosity, I would not have the understanding of Commeraw’s career that I do now.

I am dedicated to finishing the book as soon as possible, and have a tentative completion date of Spring 2011 for my first draft. It covers a broad and (I hope) fascinating range from Commeraw himself to his fellow Manhattan potters to the black community at large to New York itself and, finally, to Commeraw’s amazing fate.

The vast majority of my time over the last several years, in working on this project, has been spent in research–in both primary documentary sources and modern scholarship. If I do the material justice, and I truly hope (and believe) that I am, this book will be a major contribution not only to the field of American ceramics but, I believe, American history in general. This has been a labor of love for me and I hope, before all is said and done, to see Thomas Commeraw restored as an important American historical figure.

Thank you for visiting and please feel free to drop me a line. I am still seeking photos of any examples of Thomas Commeraw’s stoneware, so please do not hesitate to contact me if you would like to participate.

Some of you have probably read the blog article I wrote last year on R. Butt, Washington, D.C. stoneware, which was basically an explanation of the various marks used at his pottery, along with the scant information on Butt himself that has plagued the study of Washington stoneware since its outset. Many years ago I, along with my brother Mark, set out to try to properly document the Washington potters but were mostly met with frustration at the difficulty in doing so. Last year, after writing my brief blog article, I decided to try to persevere, take the information we had already dug up, and fill in the large gaps we were previously unable to.

The result is the first published article on the Washington, D.C. stoneware potters, which appears in the current (Autumn / Winter 2010) issue of Antiques and Fine Art Magazine. In the article I finally explain who Richard Butt really was, who the mysterious John Walker was, and what Enoch Burnett’s work actually looked like. I highly encourage anyone interested in this subject to get a hold of a copy of the current issue of Antiques and Fine Art (available at major bookstores), but in the meantime, they have generously allowed me to post an electronic version to our website:

Washington, D.C. Stoneware by A. Brandt Zipp
Courtesy, the Autumn/Winter 2010 issue of Antiques & Fine Art Magazine.

I hope you enjoy my article.

We are extremely pleased to announce that we have purchased the historic Gorsuch Barn in Sparks, Maryland, as our new headquarters and auction venue. The Gorsuch Barn was built in 1841 for John M. Gorsuch, a prominent Maryland landowner who farmed wheat and corn off of his hundreds of acres of land near Glencoe Village, Maryland. A stone barn, it was decorated with what has been called “the finest example in Maryland of brick louvers set in native stone.” The striking red brick louvers, or vents, were placed into the structure in what is often called a “sheaf of wheat” pattern. It was the theft of wheat from the Gorsuch farm that ultimately resulted in the famous Christiana Riot of 1851, in which the barn’s then-owner, Edward Gorsuch, was killed by a group of free blacks in Lancaster County, Pennsylvania. Gorsuch had attempted to reclaim slaves who had presumably stolen his wheat and then fled his farm, but the bloodshed that resulted helped further divide the nation over the issue of slavery and fomented anger amongst Southerners, including Baltimorean John Wilkes Booth, a close friend and classmate of Gorsuch’s son. Though it took place almost a decade before the conflict of the same name, the Christiana Riot was described in one newspaper headline as “the first blow” of “Civil War.”

We are thrilled to be able to acquire this historic property, and are in the process of converting it into a first-class auction facility. Our intention is to make the Gorsuch Barn the auction home for stoneware and redware in the United States. Our address is now 15900 York Road, Sparks, MD 21152, which is located just off of Interstate 83, about thirty minutes south of our old auction location at the York Expo Center. As we prepare our new building for its grand opening, we are also, of course, gearing up for our Fall 2010 auction, and will be loading our first photos of featured lots onto the website on Wednesday, September 8. We will soon be firming up the exact date.

We cannot emphasize strongly enough the unique opportunity that our first auction in our new building will present for you to showcase your stoneware and redware. If you are considering selling your pottery, we feel that this inaugural auction, presented in an atmosphere that we have never before been able to achieve at our previous locations, will attract a record-breaking crowd of serious bidders. Please feel free to contact us for a free evaluation of your pottery. Our seller’s commission is still 11%.

Stay tuned to our website for more exciting news as Crocker Farm continues to grow, and, as always, if we can help you in any way, please do not hesitate to call or email us. Thank you all for your support over the many years, and we look forward to the future in our new home!

I wanted to briefly update those interested in my Thomas Commeraw project on its status and what has happened since I first announced it back on March 31. First, although I have already done so privately, I want to publicly thank those of you who have been so helpful in providing photographs of Commeraw’s work (and David Morgan’s pieces) for use in my book. I am very grateful for your willingness to participate in what I think is an important endeavor for the study of not just American stoneware but American decorative arts in general. I understand that it is no small favor that you have done me in trusting me with handling images of your pieces. Secondly, I want to thank everyone for their encouragement as I come down the home stretch of my writing and putting the book together. Whether providing me with pictures or simply offering kind words of support, the response I have received since announcing this undertaking has meant a lot to me.

As for the status of this project, I have dedicated a significant amount of time over the past few months to writing, and I am pleased with the progress I have made. I expect and hope to have a rough draft finished quite soon, and am very dedicated to making that happen. Since Commeraw’s surviving work is naturally an important part of the book, I just wanted to once again invite anyone in possession of either his pottery or other Corlears Hook stoneware to participate in this project. Anonymity and discretion are extremely important to me, and while when possible I would love to photograph your pieces myself, that is not necessary. In many cases I am able to use photos taken by you, and submitting them is as simple as emailing them to me. I have a fairly large, representative number of photographs of various pieces of Commeraw’s pottery right now, but I would love to expand it. Even pictures of common pieces are useful to me, but I am of course particularly seeking any unusual stoneware made in Corlears Hook―this includes the quite rare vessels stamped “COERLEARS HOOK” (note the alternate spelling) and often decorated with incised floral decorations, canning jars (and really any type of stoneware) made in the typical Commeraw style but stamped with merchant marks, and anything that would be considered different from the norm. Click here to see some photos of Commeraw’s stoneware; the canning jars and Ashmore’s Genuine Cordials jug are a couple of examples of the more unusual pieces I am seeking. As I said, even typical pieces are of value to me, but if you are curious if something you have falls into the category of rare or strange―or even if you have something that you think was made by Commeraw but aren’t sure―please do not hesitate to contact me.

Thank you all again for your much appreciated support and I will continue to keep everyone updated as the summer wears on. If you ever want to contact me about photos or anything else at all, the easiest way to do so is through the following web page: http://www.commeraw.com/contact.

The “MOORE & FOOTE” crock to be sold in our upcoming July 17 stoneware and redware auction is a very interesting example of American advertising stoneware. The impressed mark is one of the longest, most detailed I have ever seen:

MOORE & FOOTE WHOLESALE DEALERS IN GROCERIES, PROVISIONS,
WHITEFISH & TROUT STONEWARE PAINTS OILS, DYEWOODS SASH &
GLASS ANCHORS ROPES, CANVASS & OTHER SHIPCHANDLERY

I did my best in transcribing the punctuation, and also added spaces where, as you can see in the photo below, the potter did not bother to. I am also fairly certain the last character is supposed to be a “Y,” but it looks like the pottery had to improvise and use an upside-down “7″ or some other stamp.

Moore and Foote—Franklin Moore and George Foote—were not potters; they were very prominent merchants in the city of Detroit. In a book written in the latter part of the nineteenth century, History of Detroit and Wayne County and Early Michigan, the author, Silas Farmer, wrote,

In 1835 Mr. [Franklin] Moore engaged in the grocery business, and carried it on alone until 1837, when his store and stock were destroyed by fire. The same year he started a new store …, the firm continuing until 1846, and doing a large and ever-increasing business. It was succeeded by the wholesale and retail grocery house of Moore & Foote, George Foote being the junior partner. In 1859, on the admission of John J. Bagley, the name of the firm was changed to Moore, Foote & Company, and for many years they did the largest business of any grocery firm in the State, their sales aggregating millions of dollars annually. (History of Detroit and Wayne County and early Michigan by Silas Farmer, 1890, Volume 2, pg. 1220)

An item I found in a Michigan newspaper printed in 1869 was effusive in its praise of Moore and Foote:

A few weeks since a justly deserved compliment was paid through the columns of the Mining Gazette, to the high character of the well-known house of Messrs. MOORE, FOOTE & CO., of Detroit. There is not, probably, a merchant or mining company on Lake Superior who cannot vouch for every word of that high encomium. Ever courteous and affable in their intercourse with patrons, and exceeding lenient to all who are willing, though at all times unables to meet their obligations promptly, these gentlemen have won a place in the estimation of their many friends on the Lake, second to no other house east or west.
(Lake Superior Miner [Ontonagon, Michigan], 9/11/1869)

Moore and Foote were apparently kingpins of the Detroit merchant scene.

The crock itself may have been made under the auspices of some pottery owned by Moore and Foote, but very probably not, as is almost always the case with advertising stoneware such as this. It very closely resembles Wisconsin stoneware that I have seen, but it wasn’t necessarily made there, and could have been made in Detroit or elsewhere in Michigan or nearby Ohio by some potter using the same style. Little has been written about potters working in this area of the Great Lakes region, but my main initiative in writing this brief article is to establish the identities of the merchants Moore & Foote, and to discuss what I believe is a fascinating aspect of American stoneware production.

Growing up around stoneware and seeing the myriad advertising pieces that stand alongside those that bear potters’ marks (or no marks at all), I tended to take for granted their existence without thinking much about why they were there. But I think exploring their origin helps us not only to better understand these piece themselves, but to better understand the nineteenth century American stoneware industry in general.

Merchants who bought stoneware directly from potteries who emblazoned the vessels with their names were obviously concerned with “getting their name out there.” (For another discussion of merchant stoneware, see this article, written about one year ago). But different merchants seem to have had different mindsets about what they were accomplishing when they ordered their stoneware. Sometimes the marks seem like requisite afterthoughts, affixed mostly because it was the proper thing to do, and because the potter did it for free or cheaply. I hesitate to lower stoneware to the critical level of a free pen given out at a trade show, but I do think the same mindset always came into play with advertising stoneware—in using a vessel (or a pen) on a daily basis, the consumer is constantly reminded of whatever firm’s name is imprinted thereon. Often (I would say usually) the jug, jar, or bottle bore simply the merchant’s name and (though not always) his city. I’m not sure how much control over the wording on a particular pot the merchant had, but my educated guess is that in most cases the pottery had a standard way of handling things, which could be altered for extra money or through some other arrangement. So if Smith & Jones in Scranton, Pennsylvania, dealers in turpentine, wanted a group of jugs to sell their turpentine in, the pottery, by default, probably marked them “SMITH & JONES / SCRANTON, PA.” Had Messrs. Smith and Jones wanted their jug to spell out “DEALERS IN TURPENTINE, &C.,” they most certainly could have had that done, but it might have cost more money—or, perhaps, taken nothing more than extra negotiation or a friendly request.

So what was the point of stamping your name (and sometimes city) alone on a particular piece of pottery? I’m sure this often confused consumers. How was someone supposed to always know the difference between a maker’s mark and a merchant’s mark? Suppose they saw a beautiful jug and wanted to contact the pottery for a bunch of their own? If all they had to go on was the name impressed in the clay, wouldn’t they assume that person was the potter? This is the same problem we often encounter today in evaluating pottery. By now so many potteries are documented, but unknown marks, or barely-documented ones, turn up all the time. Often a piece is so obviously made by a known pottery that the mystery mark on it is very certainly that of some other business owner. But sometimes not, and we have to turn to paper documents to sort things out.

Often these names were so well-known to consumers of their time period that no further introduction was needed. This seems to be the case for Moore and Foote, though they still felt the need to be long-winded. But what happened when this wasn’t so? I’m sure, actually, that this was partly the point. Any particular pot stamped with a merchant’s mark was meant to direct you to that merchant. You could buy stoneware directly from a pottery, but you could also buy it from a middle-man—and that was the business relationship that the mark was supposed to initiate. This might seem like a bad deal for the potter, but it was not. Whether a pottery sold its stoneware to an agent or sold it right out of their warehouse was probably neither here nor there, and any lost mark-up that they normally enjoyed in dealing with the general public was simply the cost of doing business.

In many cases, then, I believe the merchant shop, for all intents and purposes, wanted the consumer to see a particular pot as its product, not that of the local (or distant) stoneware manufactory. For small towns where the stoneware industry was non-existent, I’m sure customers had little choice (or barely knew better) than to procure all of their stoneware through merchants. But in localities where the stoneware industry was booming, and well-known to residents—say, Bennington, Vermont, or Baltimore, Maryland—the consumer was presented with a choice between merchants or potteries. I wonder if some potteries, like most modern-day companies providing consumer goods, simply did not deal with the general public. I really doubt this, however; potters needed to make money wherever they could, and often bartered for their ware, taking necessities like firewood in exchange. Sometimes, I suppose, the price a person paid at a merchant store was the same or even less than they paid directly from the potter, depending on what the merchant paid for the ware, and what specials they might have been running on that particular day.

This implies, however, that the merchants were even selling stoneware as a standalone commodity. In the case of any theoretical company like Smith and Jones, who sold nothing but turpentine and a few other odds and ends, the only stoneware they sold would probably be given over as containers for their primary product. So a customer who needed turpentine also received a stoneware jug for his or her money. Smith and Jones wouldn’t have even bothered dealing with stoneware manufacturers if they didn’t need vessels to hold their turpentine. Taking businesses like this into account, as far as distribution of stoneware went, there were probably only a few different types of merchant shops.

There were those who sold specific consumables like liquor or turpentine, and who only provided stoneware as containers to customers. In these cases, the stoneware may have been handed over as part of some deposit system.

There were merchants who acted as brokers for stoneware potters—either selling the stoneware of one particular pottery at a time, or maybe offering the wares of a few different ones. In my Commeraw article of 5/31/2009, I noted that a Portland, Maine, merchant had advertised, in an 1828 newspaper, “a large assortment of ‘Croliu’s’ [sic] New York painted, superior ware,” claiming that he was “agent for several extensive New York manufactories” of all kinds of goods. In my 6/8/2009 article on the Boston advertising jug, I likewise mentioned how David D. Wells, a Boston merchant, had advertised that he was a “Wholesale and Retail Dealer in every description of BENNINGTON STONE WARE” in the 1859 Boston city directory. An extreme example of these types of dealers would be someone like D.P. Hobart in Williamsport, PA, who sold ware made at the local pottery, which was stamped “D.P. HOBART, Agent / Williamsport, PA.” Within this framework, there were probably infinite iterations of how a particular firm did business. Some probably openly sold, say, stoneware marked “J. & E. NORTON / BENNINGTON, VT.” Others sold pieces like the subject of this article—made by a stoneware pottery, but marked with the merchant’s name. Those businessmen who chose to have their names emblazoned on a jug or jar had varying philosophies on the “ad space” of the vessel, and those that saw it as a valuable marketing tool had nice, descriptive stamps fashioned. Others were content with their name, and maybe address. For those that only sold stoneware marked with their own name, I wonder how often they marketed it as the product of a particular pottery, or how forthcoming they were as to its origin. And still other merchants probably sold a mixture of both—for instance, some marked with the Nortons’ stamp, some other identical ones marked with their own.

But the vast majority of merchant shops—especially in the case of run-of-the-mill general merchants—probably provided stoneware in both the above two ways. Someone could come into the shop and buy grain, liquor, or pickles, and take it home in a stoneware vessel. Another person might be in need of a group of containers for his home or farm, and take back a quantity of empty stoneware. Consumers buying stoneware as its own product or merely as a container could have ended up with pottery marked by the maker or marked with the merchant’s name, probably at the discretion of said merchant. In some cases, the merchant probably saw, say, the Nortons’ stoneware as a good, salable brand, and thus favored it as the product they offered. Others probably saw more value in having their own name affixed, and that was the product they offered. Perhaps, in fact, stoneware bearing merchants’ names was (usually) that designed only to be sold as a secondary container, and stoneware bearing the potter’s name was that supposed to be sold as its own product.

In the end, this brief discussion probably provides more questions than it does answers. But I think they are questions worth considering as we attempt to understand this eighteenth and nineteenth century product we value as art and how, and why, the general public bought it.

A small-sized stoneware rum jug with an interesting history will cross the block in our April 10 auction. Standing just 5 1/4″ tall, the jug was made for Brooklyn, New York sea captain, Julius Frank Caulkins, and bears his initials, along with the inscription “His Jug,” across the front. The vessel is consistent in form and color to stoneware produced in Caulkins’ home state of New York, circa 1860-1870.

The captain was born on January 27, 1833, and eventually became master of the ship “Energy,” a fully-rigged vessel built in South Boston in 1860. It measured 168 feet long, had a 34 foot beam, and weighed 967 tons.

“Energy” was wrecked on Hunting Island, South Carolina, on October 20, 1872. Fortunately, Caulkins, his wife, and his prized jug survived. Apparently, there was some discussion as to whether the jug’s contents played a role in the grounding of the ship. Caulkins account of previous damage sustained by “Energy” nine years earlier was printed in the February 1, 1863 of the New York Times:

DEAR SIRS: After encountering a succession of the heaviest gales I ever experienced, in which I lost sails, stove boats, twisted off the rudder-head, and sustained other damage, I was compelled to bear up for this place to repair damages. I shall proceed at once with the necessary repairs, which I hope will be completed in about 10 days, when I shall leave for your port.

Yours truly, JULIUS F. CAULKINS,

Master of ship Energy.

After years of cheating death, an incident five years after the wreck in South Carolina would prove fatal for the captain. On January 3, 1877, Caulkins was lost at sea aboard the steamer, “George Cromwell,” which wrecked near Newfoundland. All hands were lost.

For stoneware enthusiasts, presentation pieces stir our curiosity when they come along. We often wonder who, exactly, they were made for, and why they were made for that particular person. Oftentimes, they are a relative of a potter or an important figure within a certain community. However, presentation pieces are often difficult to research, particularly when they are inscribed only with the owner’s initials. Fortunately for this little jug, it remained in the captain’s family. Having survived 150 years (and a shipwreck) Caulkins’ jug ultimately descended to his great grandson, its consignor. And while so much information on pottery is lost at sea, so to speak, this one’s colorful history has thankfully survived.

The stoneware of Thomas Commeraw, made in Corlears Hook, on the East River in New York City, has been valued by historians and collectors for about as long as any stoneware made in the United States. The work of the early Manhattan potters was some of the first to be recognized as important American material culture, way back around the turn of the twentieth century. At that time, authors and students had it pretty easy–a lot of the potters we now write about and spend a great deal of time trying to research were actually alive back then. But the work of the Croliuses, the Remmeys, Thomas Commeraw, and David Morgan in New York all caught the eye of people interested in decorative arts, early on. A lot has been written about their work, and about the men themselves. One of my favorite books on American stoneware, William Ketchum’s Potters and Potteries of New York State, 1650-1900, has been the definitive work on the Manhattan potters, and the entirety of what we have known about Thomas Commeraw, in particular, is encompassed in that work. Not at all a criticism of Ketchum and his near-exhaustive work, but there was something he and the scores of other authors who have written about Commeraw missed.

Thomas Commeraw was not another potter of European descent working beside the Croliuses and Remmeys. He was a free African American. I discovered this fact some time ago by chance and at the time I was so shocked by this revelation that I wondered if there were two different Thomas Commeraws running around Manhattan during the time period. But there were not, and since then I have spent a lot of time trying to flesh out the life of this man whom history forgot. I believe Commeraw’s story demands nothing less than a book on his life and work, and I will be finished writing this book soon. I have launched a website, www.commeraw.com, to keep those interested in my project updated on its progress, and to enable people to easily contact me. At this time, I am asking for your help. I have many photographs of Commeraw’s work, but I am trying to amass as large of a photographic record of his pottery as possible. I am also looking for pieces by David Morgan, his fellow potter in Corlears Hook, and the fairly well-known pieces stamped “COERLEARS HOOK” and incised with elaborate floral decorations. In many cases I can travel to you, and in some cases I will ask for you to mail or email me photos. If you attend our regular auctions in York, Pennsylvania, or would like to in the future, I can have your pieces photographed conveniently there, as well. I of course promise complete discretion and anonymity. If you are interested in helping me by providing photographs, please feel free to contact me: http://www.commeraw.com/contact.

I invite you to visit my website, www.commeraw.com, and thank you in advance for your interest and for helping me restore Commeraw’s deserved place in American history.

During his presidency, George Washington visited each of the original thirteen colonies during a three-part presidential tour. Washington took the opportunity to travel about the new nation as (I’m sure amongst other concerns) a way to help galvanize the states into a Union. Similar to Washington, in the wake of the War of 1812, James Monroe undertook his own national tour, visiting New England, the Mid-Atlantic states, the South, and the West, in four parts. About two decades later, following Andrew Jackson’s reelection to the presidency, fellow Democratic party members in New England tried to coax the President up to their neck of the woods for a tour of his own.

The clamor for the Jackson tour seems to have begun in January 1833 at the Hartford, Connecticut, “Jackson celebration.” The March 26, 1833 issue of the Hartford Connecticut Courant described the initiative this way:

It will be recollected by our readers that at the Jackson celebration in this city last January, a resolution was adopted appointing a Committee to invite the President to visit New England. The letter addressed to the President has been recently published, and we hasten to lay it before our readers, as a production too valuable to be lost. It is the more desirable that the letter should have an extensive circulation at this time, as no less than three of the committee are Jackson candidates for Congress; and if anything were wanting to enlist a becoming state pride in their favor, … it is abundantly furnished in this admirable composition.

The letter itself, mailed in early February and also printed in the Courant, addresses the “Chief Magistrate” in almost comically sycophantic terms:

Sir—The preceding resolution was adopted at a meeting of our fellow citizens at Hartford, on the 8th of January 1833, while commemorating the events of that “glorious 8th” [Jackson's victory over the British on January 8, 1815 at the Battle of New Orleans] in which you were the principal actor, and from which, has been reflected upon our country, so much honor. …

The savage torch was lighted up—the scalping knife and tomahawk glittered in the sunbeam—and the cry of the innocent victim did not reach your ear in vain. The name and prowess of ANDREW JACKSON have proved a sure defence against savage brutality over the Western States, where dwell our kindred.

The “mother country,” made haughty by European conquests, claimed dominion over the ocean. Under her flag, the right of search, and the right to interrupt the commerce of the whole world, were avowed. To maintain these arrogant claims, and to plant the standard of a King, upon the soil of a Republic, her armies marched boldly on, shouting in advance, their notes of conquest, desolation, and death. The eyes of a nation were fixed on you. General ANDREW JACKSON heard the calls of his country, and met her enemies with his open bosom. He had a home and a country to save, and his own life was thrown between that country and its foes. The results are known to the world, and history shall give to that knowledge, perpetuity.

The letter did illicit responses like that seen in the March 27, 1833 issue of the Norwich [Connecticut] Courier:

The Washington Globe received to-day contains a correspondence between a committee of Jackson men at Hartford, (Conn.) and President Jackson. The committee, it seems, addressed a letter to the President, inviting him to visit New England, as soon as it may suit his convenience. The President thanks the committee for their politeness, and tacitly accepts the invitation—but intimates a doubt whether he shall be able to make the visit during the present, or not until another year.—The letter of the committee is one of the most ridiculous pieces of bombast, and slavish exhibitions of adulation, that we recollect to have seen. It beats the famous proclamation of Sachem Mooney, in which it was represented that “terra trembled,” and “all creation expanded to explosion,” at the approach of General Jackson, when he visited this city in 1818. The reply of the President, however, is a very proper one—and very modest—all things considered.

But Hartford’s invitation set off a string of like-minded correspondence from many other New England towns. On March 11, for instance, a committee of Bostonians wrote Jackson inviting him to their city, saying, “The Republicans of this city, and we may safely assume to say, those of all New-England, … would feel proud to exhibit to the victor of New-Orleans, the plains of Lexington, and the trenches of Bunker-Hill, consecrated to liberty by the blood of our revolutionary martyrs.” (See the June 4, 1833 edition of the Portsmoth New Hampshire Gazette).

Jackson was not able to accept the invitations of every city who sought his presence, but decided he could “leave the seat of Government early in June, and be absent about six or eight weeks, with but little inconvenience to the public interest … .”  Making good on his word, on Thursday, June 6 he set out with the plan of traveling as far north as Portland, Maine; his route to New England took him out of Washington, D.C., through Baltimore, then Philadelphia, then New York—with smaller stops along the way. Besides a slow start in Baltimore, where Jackson was upstaged by the famous Sauk Indian chief Black Hawk (who had joined his delegation for the day) the President’s visits on his way to New England were marked by almost riotous adulation on the parts of thousands of Americans—and Jackson seemed to eat up the fanfare afforded him as he participated in various parades, dinners, and meetings. In Philadelphia, for instance, when Jackson attempted to welcome guests to a private reception at Independence Hall, the crowd outside entered the building and filled it beyond maximum capacity—so much so that, according to one reporter, when someone opened the windows, people came falling out. In New York, one hundred thousand people gathered around the harbor to watch Jackson as the boat he was riding on docked and the General disembarked to review troops on horseback before traveling to City Hall. So many people crowded on the bridge between Castle Garden and the Battery that it collapsed, sending many, including the Secretary of War, into the water.

The over-the-top adulation for Jackson, however, essentially subsided once he hit New England, whose political enthusiasm for him did not in any way match other parts of the Union. He made several barely-noteworthy visits between New York and Boston; in Hartford, the citizens gave him a Bible and Jackson’s thank-you note was printed in the papers (see the Norwich [Connecticut] Courier, June 26, 1833) and in New Haven he visited Yale University. Jackson entered Boston on Friday, June 21—just over two weeks into his journey—at about 4 pm. According to the June 28, 1833 issue of the Amherst, NH Farmer’s Cabinet, Jackson was escorted to Boston Common by a procession of military men, a military band, various city officials, and firemen. The firemen would remain major parts of the various celebrations in which Jackson took part during his time in Boston. After meeting with, among other dignitaries, Massachusetts Governor Lincoln at the President’s quarters in a local hotel, Jackson was treated to a review of the various companies of the Fire Department; one engine decorated with an apparently life-sized Indian figure especially caught his fancy. After dinner, fire engines appeared, all decked out in flags and banners, one in particular hanging a banner emblazoned “January 8, 1815” from a hickory branch (referring to Jackson’s nickname, “Old Hickory”).

President Jackson spent Saturday engaged in more processions and meetings, but by Sunday lingering health problems caught up with him. According to Fletcher M. Green’s excellent article, “On Tour with President Andrew Jackson” (see note at the conclusion of this article), Jackson “suffered infection of the throat, bleeding of the lungs, and severe pain in the back. [The important physician] Dr. J. C. Warren … bled him profusely and ordered him confined to bed where he remained two days.” The President’s illness caused him to miss the ceremonial sailing of the U.S.S. Constitution early Monday morning, at the conclusion of which three canes made from the timber of the vessel were presented to Governor Lincoln, Jackson confidant Joel Roberts Poinsett, and the President himself, via Vice President Martin Van Buren. The sickness also caused Jackson to postpone what was to be a momentous appearance at one of America’s most cherished battle sites.

Shortly before Jackson had departed Washington, on Wednesday, May 29, a group of residents of Charlestown, Massachusetts—now a section of Boston, but at one time its own entity and even the first capital of the Massachusetts Bay Colony—met to discuss the prospect of bringing the President to their town. According to the June 10, 1833 edition of the Concord New Hampshire Patriot and State Gazette,

A meetimg (sic) was held in Charlestown on Wednesday afternoon, at which resolutions were passed favorable to the services and character of General Jackson, and inviting him to visit Charlestown in his proposed tour. On the question of adopting the resolution, Mr. E Everett observed, that he concurred in the object, for which the meeting had been called. He should cordially unite with his fellow-citizens, in tendering a hospitable reception to the President. Mr. E. remarked, that, though politically opposed to the President, he had ever been able to do justice to his public services; and on the first occasion, on which he ever made a speech in Congress, he has paid a sincere tribute to their value. This he had also done at a later period, and was ready on every proper occasion to do it again. In opposing some of the measures of the administration, he had exercised his right as a freeman: but the most important of those measures, those which had been recently adopted for the preservation of the Union, had had his cordial support. During the four winters, which he had passed at Washington, under the administration of the President, Mr. E. observed that he and his family had received each season the hospitality of the President’s house, and such attentions, as it would be his duty and a pleasure to reciprocate, even to a private gentleman. … It was then voted to appoint a committee to make necessary arrangements, and a committee of twenty-five (including the Board of Selectmen) was appointed.

(The aforementioned “Mr. E Everett” was Edward Everett, at the time a member of the House of Representatives and, as a Whig, a critic of the President, as referenced above. The 39-year-old Everett had graduated from Harvard at the age of 17, became an ordained pastor when he was about 20 years old, and had subsequently taught at Harvard for several years before his election to the House. He would go on to serve as Governor of Massachusetts, President of Harvard University, U.S. Secretary of State (under Millard Fillmore), U.S. Senator, and Vice Presidential candidate as John Bell’s running mate on the Constitutional Union Party ticket in 1860. A well-known orator, he used this ability to promote Abraham Lincoln and the Union itself during the Civil War, before his death in early 1865.)

Jackson had, according to an article in the June 13, 1833 issue of the Keene New Hampshire Sentinel, planned to arrive at Bunker Hill on Monday, June 17, an apt date that marked the 58th anniversary of the battle there. At some point the intended time of the General’s arrival was moved back one week to June 24, and it was on that date that an elaborate military exhibition was planned, presumably by the Committee of Arrangements, and this display proceeded as intended despite the President’s illness and absence. As printed in the June 28 issue of the Farmer’s Cabinet,

The appointed military parade took place in Charlestown in the course of the forenoon, notwithstanding the indisposition of the President.— The troops, consisting of two regiments of infantry, and one of artillery, were reviewed by Gov. Lincoln, and the contemplated ceremonies were conducted with as little deviation as possible from the published arrangements. It is not certain that the President will be able to proceed this morning on his Eastern tour. He was in the hands of Dr. Warren, yesterday, who could not foretell the state of his health to-day.

Jackson did not feel sufficiently hearty enough to venture on until Wednesday, June 26; he left Boston at about 9:30 a.m. that day and arrived in nearby Cambridge where he was welcomed by the President and the Fellows of Harvard University. At Harvard—much to the chagrin of Jackson’s predecessor and political opponent, Harvard alum John Quincy Adams—Jackson was awarded the degree of Doctor of Laws.

Meanwhile, the citizens of Charlestown who lived in the shadow of the most memorable hill in American history had been waiting for the President to show up. The focal point of General Jackson’s visit was to be Bunker Hill (actually Breed’s Hill) and its monument, and that fact taken along with the close proximity of momentous Lexington and Concord reinforced the already strong military bent of the celebration—thus the choreographed military exercises that, although not in any way unique to the Charlestown segment of the tour, held particular meaning within the confines of that place and whose importance seemed to transcend the actual presence of the Commander-in-Chief. The Committee of Arrangements was particularly concerned with presenting Jackson with a gift weighty with a symbolism that encompassed both the place and the man who would visit it. Some local woodworker, probably, fashioned a box—described by one reporter as a “mahogany casket”—out of wood from the U.S.S. Constitution. This container was meant to hold two artifacts rife with meaning: a grape shot dug out of the Bunker Hill battlefield and a six-pound shot, a relic from the Battle of New Orleans. Inscribed on a silver plate probably fashioned by a local smith, the Committee of Arrangements had the following inscription engraved:

These now harmless memorials of the 17th June, 1775, and the 8th of January 1815, were presented to General Andrew Jackson, President of the United States, by the citizens of Charlestown, on the 24th June, 1833, on his visit to Bunker-Hill.

In the spirit of this fine gift and any number of other commemorative objects produced to mark the President’s tour, the local stoneware manufactory made a pot.

The aforementioned manufactory was owned by one Barnabas Edmands. His pottery is perhaps best known for two different types of pots seen in stoneware collections all over the country—early stoneware jugs devoid of cobalt, dipped in a brown, iron oxide slip and often marked “CHARLESTOWN”; and later vessels, reminiscent of other Victorian stoneware such as that produced by the Nortons in Bennington, VT and the New York Stoneware Company in Fort Edward, NY, adorned with cobalt flowers, birds, and, rarely, deer. But between the crude early products of this pottery and the later more familiar ones, the potters working in Charlestown obviously created a wealth of stoneware in line with contemporary design and manufacturing trends.

The best secondary source on Charlestown stoneware I have found is Lura Woodside Watkins’ familiar, extensive 1950 book appropriately titled Early New England Potters and Their Wares. Part of her work seems to have been based on a 1902 book called Old Charlestown by Timothy Thompson Sawyer. Sawyer gives a quick sketch of the trajectory of Edmands’ pottery business as follows:

Barnabas [Edmands], whose homestead was in Richmond Street (Rutherford Avenue), in his early business life was a brass-founder, but he gave this up and, assisted by his brother-in-law, William Burroughs, established a pottery on Austin Street, not far from the State Prison. … For a time in the early history of the pottery Frederic Carpenter … was a partner with Mr. Edmands. After many years the pottery was removed to a wharf-estate on Mystic River which had been purchased by Mr. Edmands. In 1850 he sold the business to his sons, Edward and Thomas R. B., and Charles Collier, who had been his foreman, and they continued it under the style of Edmands & Co., adding to it the manufacture of drain-pipe; the latter part of the time by machinery, an invention of Mr. Collier’s for the purpose having been patented. This part of the business has now been given up, owing to western competition which has made it unprofitable, but the original pottery-manufacture is still kept up by Edmands & Hooper, as successors to Edmands & Co., at their kilns on Medford Street.

But expanding on this summary, Watkins says that Frederick Carpenter—a name, like Edmands’, that is quite familiar to students of stoneware—arrived in Charlestown in 1801, about 11 years before Barnabas Edmands bought his pottery, with Carpenter apparently as the master potter (Edmands himself clearly not a potter, but a businessman). During the interceding years, Carpenter may have himself produced stoneware bearing marks like “CHARLESTOWN” and “BOSTON.” Once Edmands’ shop got up and running, Carpenter seems to have ran it until his death in 1827. While I do not know the exact location of the pottery, it was situated on Austin Street, near the State Prison, probably quite near to the river. Watkins says that after Carpenter’s death, Charles Collier “became the foreman” and that by 1831 the pottery employed only five workers; they got their clay out of New York and New Jersey. It seems that making fairly elaborate presentation pieces was a part of Collier’s regular repertoire. According to Watkins,

In 1839 Edmands exhibited a very large stone jug at the second annual fair of the Massachusetts Charitable Mechanics’ Association. It was described as “an excellent specimen of so large an article of stone ware” and was said to have been turned on the wheel by an expert workman. Again, two years later, they again succeeded in obtaining awards at the Mechanics’ Fair—one, a diploma for Charles Collier, the other, for the company. Since they were the only entrants in the field, we cannot judge the quality of their exhibits by the fact that they won prizes. The commentary from the catalogue of the fair is worth quoting in full:

The Committee have but a limited field on which to construct the Report, as they find but two articles of Stone Ware offered for exhibition—one, a large Fifteen Gallon Water Pitcher, made by Mr. C. Collier; the other, a Water Jar, of nearly equal capacity, from the manufactory of Barnabas Edmands & Co., of Charlestown. The Committee find the material of these two articles of a very superior quality and the workmanship of a higher character than any that they have ever before met with of this country’s manufacture. They show an advance in the article highly creditable to the makers, and give promise that the hitherto almost untrodden field of the finer quality of Stone Ware manufactures may soon be occupied by the skill and taste of our countrymen. The Committee, however, could not but notice, that general fault in all articles made of Stone Ware, applied, (at least in one of the specimens) to those now exhibited. They found that the covers to the articles were not made with that care and fitness which they deem highly necessary; and they felt surprised that articles showing such a high state of improvement in the art, should not have met with a greater share of attention in this respect.

Just as he would do for the Mechanics’ Fair, Charles Collier was charged with producing something special for the arrival of the President of the United States. He probably did so at Edmands’ request. A prominent member of the town, Edmands, if not a member of the unknown Committee of Arrangements himself, may have been involved in that day’s planning on some level. We don’t know how many pots Collier—or one of his co-workers—made for the occasion, but my guess would be it was more than one. In doing so, he incorporated the same theme that both colored the plans for the Charlestown celebration as a whole and informed all of the artwork and objects produced for that event, as well as the Boston days. He threw a large jar and applied a molded patriotic eagle to the front. Underneath the eagle he incised the words “Gen. Andrew Jackson” in finely executed script, emphasizing the celebrated military background of the now Commander-in-Chief. He dipped a brush in a dark gray mixture of water, clay, and cobalt oxide and painted over the eagle, encircled the entire design in a cloud-like halo, then filled the General’s name in, as well. On the reverse, in large, bold characters he wrote, “17th June 1775.” Left to dry, what was a very dull, gray, matte vessel would be fired, salt-glazed, and brought out of the kiln shiny with electric blue decoration.

We don’t know, for sure, what Edmands, Collier, et al. intended to do with the jar, but it was evidently made to stand in some prominent position. Edmands’ shop on Austin Street was located near the Bunker Hill monument, but Jackson’s route into town did not take him by the pottery. So although it was possible that this pot was meant to sit either in the shop’s window or out front as a way for the pottery to both participate in the day’s festivities and show off its work, I do not think so. With the prominent Bunker Hill date on one side and Jackson’s name with the eagle on the other, the piece seems to me to have been produced to sit somewhere that could show off both sides and fit specifically with the theme of the jar. With all of this in mind, it very well could have been made to sit beside the Bunker Hill monument. In particular, it may have been used, perhaps along with others like it, to pot plants in or in some other way decorate the area where Jackson was to receive his gift and make his remarks.

The use of molded, applied eagle designs on American stoneware has been noted on a few other pieces from the time period but until recently was associated almost entirely with one pottery in particular—that of Henry Lowndes in Petersburg, Virginia. See, for instance, this piece—posted on Ceramics in America‘s website—that shows the motif seen on a small number of Lowndes vessels, obviously highly regarded by American stoneware students and collectors. Last year we were very excited to sell a finely-made stoneware pitcher—similar, in fact, to the Staffordshire style of the aforementioned Lowndes pitcher—with applied eagles on both sides and stamped with the maker’s mark “WM * PORTER,” referring to the potter of the same name who worked in Pleasantville, Venango County, Pennsylvania. The discovery of this piece, made hundreds of miles away from Lowndes’ pottery, demonstrated that the use of this decoration was not a technique unique to Petersburg, Virginia, but probably part of some greater design idea within the industry at large.

Even before this revelation, though, a different style eagle that was sometimes used in Ohio had been documented for some time. We sold a churn in November 2005 with an identical eagle to that seen on a famous piece pictured in Gary and Diana Stradling’s The Art of the Potter—a six-gallon water cooler inscribed in cobalt “Anthony Baer / Cleveland / Ohio,” referring to a tavern keeper. Another similar churn is also pictured in Donald Blake Webster’s Decorated Stoneware Pottery of North America. But the existence of another eagle done in what was considered to be the exclusive style of Henry Lowndes reinforces a theory I subscribe to that this design—though clearly not often used—was employed by potters working all over the eastern part of the United States.

I do not know where these potters procured the molds for their designs. I do not believe that they fashioned them themselves, and I also do not believe that they “bootlegged” them by making new molds off of other potters’ work (for instance, china or Rockingham ware) or even the products of metal workers. (The Bell family, for instance, in Waynesboro, PA and Strasburg, VA were famous for making plaster molds from spaniels and other pieces of pottery made, I’m sure amongst other places, at Edwin Bennett’s pottery in Baltimore.) I don’t know, for that matter, where potters got a hold of their various potters’ tools—those that weren’t handmade—and this is an area of study that I hope will one day be fleshed out.

Edmands, in particular, though, seems to have been fond of the eagle design. An Albany slip-glazed stoneware crock we sold in July 2008 reads “EDMANDS, / &,CO / CHARLESTOWN” within a wreath, topped with a molded eagle.

In the late morning of Wednesday, June 26, President Jackson made his way out of Cambridge and headed over to Charlestown, where he arrived around noon. The Columbian Guards and the Warren Phalanx—local military companies—escorted him into town to the sound of the Charlestown Artillery’s guns, and he followed Main Street, flanked by lined-up local school children, to Bunker Hill. (Incidentally, according to Old Charlestown, Barnabas Edmands’ cousin, Thomas Edmands, was one of the original members of the Warren Phalanx when it was founded in 1804 and had also served as its commander.)

At Bunker Hill—that is, near the monument—Edward Everett gave a somewhat verbose speech in which he said,

To you, Sir, who, under Providence, conducted the banners of the country to victory, in the last great struggle of the American arms, it must be peculiarly grateful to stand upon the spot, immortalized as the scene of the first momentous conflict.

We have thought it might not be unwelcome to you, to possess some joint memorial of these two eventful days, and such an one I now hold in my hands;—a grape-shot dug up from the sod beneath our feet, and a cannon-ball from the battle-field of New-Orleans, brought from the enclosure, within which your head-quarters, were established. They are preserved in one casket; and on behalf of the citizens of Charlestown, I now present them to you, in the hope that they will perpetuate, in your mind, an acceptable association of the 17th of June, 1775, and the 8th of January, 1815;—the dates of the first and last great battles fought under the American standard.

The silver plate on Jackson’s gift still read “June 24,” the day he was supposed to show up. Accepting the box of mementos, after Everett finished his remarks, the President made his own, saying, in part,

It is one of the most gratifying incidents of my life, to meet my fellow-citizens upon Bunker-Hill, at the base of that Monument, which their patriotism is erecting; and upon the sacred spot hallowed by so many interesting recollections:—A spot rich in the various national objects which it presents to view, and richer still in the associations, moral and historical, which belong to it. …

I accept with gratitude the interesting relics you have presented to me. I am sure I speak the sentiments of my fellow-soldiers upon the plains of New-Orleans, when I say, that to be associated with the memory of that band of patriots, who fought with Warren, when he sealed his principles with his life, is the highest meed of praise, which our country could bestow. … It was my good fortune, on that eventful day, to lead an army composed of American citizens, appreciating the value of the prize they contended for, and determined upon exertions proportioned to its magnitude;—and it was theirs to expel a superior force, and to preserve an important section of the Union.

When Jackson said that the citizens’ patriotism was erecting the monument, he was referencing the incomplete state of that structure, which—through an interminable process of building interrupted by funding issues—would not be finished for another nine years. (Construction had commenced way back in 1825.) Nevertheless, even incomplete, the monument carried the appropriate solemnity that it was designed to project. After giving his remarks, the President climbed up to the monument.

While two different newspaper articles I consulted (see note on sources) claim Jackson left Charlestown at about 1 p.m. that day, Green states in his article that “Everett’s lengthy speech was followed by a two-hour procession around the city and a party afterwards. The speech-making and the long tour so fatigued Jackson that he was late for his scheduled appearance at Lynn [Massachusetts], where he was too ill to attend the dinner given in his honor.”

Jackson was, in fact, quite ill. He would call in sick to the dinners planned in his honor at the next two stops of his tour, as well—Marblehead and Salem, Massachusetts. He managed to move on to Lowell, Massachusetts, and Portsmouth and Concord, New Hampshire, without medical incident, but at some point after reaching the latter town on June 28, he decided—quite abruptly—to cut the tour short. He had, as mentioned previously, intended to take his road show all the way “down east” to Portland, Maine. Partisan bickering in New Hampshire may have played more of a role in Jackson’s quick exit than he let on, and John Quincy Adams suggested as much publicly. Either way, Jackson made up his mind to return to the nation’s capital and embarked on July 1, returning to the White House on Independence Day.

The potters of Charlestown, Massachusetts, seem to have been steeped in the knowledge of their revolutionary, patriotic roots that likewise colored the overall atmosphere of the town. Somewhat ironically, almost two decades later, the Edmands pottery was burned to the ground—though the business lived to see another day—when the nearby rope walk caught fire as the presumed result of firecrackers lit to celebrate America’s independence. (See the July 7, 1852 issue of the Boston Daily Atlas.) The pot that Edmands’ shop produced to mark the occasion of President Jackson’s visit to the hallowed ground of Bunker Hill provides a rare opportunity for us as we study this specialized segment of American material culture–one where the “high” history of Presidents and almost mythical subjects like the American Revolution intersects with the story of artisans and the objects they made and left behind.

Note on Sources: Fletcher M. Green’s excellent article, “On Tour with President Andrew Jackson,” published in The New England Quarterly, June 1963, provided my information for the background, circumstances, and happenings of Jackson’s New England tour, in general. Actual quotes from newspapers, however, were located and quoted directly by me. Green mostly glosses over the actual Charlestown visit, however, and for that large section of my article other sources take over. My three main sources for Jackson’s time in Charlestown are “Politics and Statistics: The President’s Tour” in The New-England Magazine, August 1833, the July 4, 1833 edition of the Pittsfield, Massachusetts Sun, and the June 29, 1833 issue of The Portsmouth [New Hampshire] Journal of Literature & Politics. In some instances, but only when filling in minor details such as the specific date Jackson arrived in a particular city, for brevity’s sake I did not cite the exact newspaper article I used to flesh out the detail. Any significant primary documentary sources are noted in the body of the article.